Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I remember the spark we shared at breakfast. My stomach curls in on itself as I think back on the way he watched me from across the table. There was no shy glance, just a bold, arrogant perusal. A look that said I own the place. Literally. I’ve never experienced a man like him. Not on a date, definitely not in bed. I’ve always gone for quiet, studious boys, mostly due to ease of access. The guys in my journalism classes in college were not exactly the most intimidating creatures on Earth. And after college, the guys I dated were much the same. Most recently, I went out with an associate editor at Bon Voyage for a few weeks before it petered out partly due to lack of chemistry but mostly due to bad timing. It was around the same time my grandmother was at her sickest, and the guy wasn’t looking to hold someone’s hand through that amount of intense grief. I don’t blame him for ending things. In fact, looking back, it was for the best. My feelings for him were lukewarm. We would have probably dated for a few months and then gone our separate ways anyway.
Since then . . . well, there’s been a veritable drought. It’s kind of complicated to piece together a dating life while I’m living out of a suitcase, like Hey, baby, want to come back to my place? Yeah, it’s the Motel 6 just off the highway . . .
I suppose I would make it work if the right man came along, though.
Someone like Phillip.
My heart races with startling clarity.
Though he’s absolutely, ludicrously wrong for me, I’m still intrigued by him. I’m convinced a one-night stand with him would be incredibly hot. All that angsty tension. Jesus.
I’m aware of the flush creeping up my neck, and I feel like an absolute pervert fantasizing about the one man who should be completely off limits. Not only does Phillip hate me, but he’s also the subject of my work assignment. It’s not outlined in the company handbook—which I’ve definitely read all of and didn’t just skim through on my first day on the job—but it seems pretty obvious that it would jeopardize my integrity as a journalist.
I realize Sienna’s watching me, still waiting for my choice for a one-night stand. I smile and shrug.
“Ricardo, I guess.”
She nods approvingly, turning to look at him as he goes about his tour guide duties. “Yeah. He’s a great option. Fit and tan. I might go for that cute photographer from Spain. Did you see him at dinner last night? The one a few seats down from me? God, he was sexy. There’s the language barrier to contend with, but I took Spanish for two terms, so we’ll have no problem working it out. How do you say ‘Let’s el bono’?”
A laugh bursts out of me, and we draw the attention of everyone in our group.
Whoops.
Our blisteringly hot tour of Old Town lasts another two hours. I take notes as best as possible, but outside of the hour we spent at Hemingway’s house, it wasn’t all that noteworthy. People come to Key West for the beaches, not a roundabout tour of an old cemetery. By the time Ricardo pulls the golf cart up to the beach, Sienna and I are melting like two Popsicles left out on hot asphalt.
“Oh, thank god,” I sigh quietly.
Sienna wipes sweat from her brow and leaps off the golf cart before it’s even come to a full stop.
“So help me, I’m going to drown myself in that water. Look at it! It’s so blue.”
She takes my hand and starts tugging me onto the sand so that I’m half running, half stumbling after her. My bag slips off my shoulder, and I have to secure it before everything falls out.
“Slow down!”
Ricardo races after us, laughing. “I was supposed to tell you guys, there’s a picnic set up for you all. That tent right over there.”
I look to where he’s pointing, and my jaw drops.
“Well done, Aurelia,” Sienna says with an impressed tone.
A few yards from where we stand, closer to the water’s edge, there’s a large-scale blue-and-white-striped tent under which sits a long banquet table set low to the ground. Around it, throw blankets and pillows have been arranged by careful hands. A bartender serves cocktails in carved-out pineapples, and there’s another table overflowing with charcuterie.
“This could be someone’s wedding,” Sienna notes, already reaching for her phone so she can take pictures for social media.
She’s right. There are floral arrangements set out everywhere and morning glory vines twist around the tent poles. Everything is so beautifully done that it’s hard to believe it’s just for a beach picnic.
“Good afternoon,” a kind voice greets us, and we turn to find a crew member smiling at us.